The insurrection of Lucas
by Pascal in Quebec
Summary: Very strong "M" contents; They bought him. They used him like an animal in a circus show. They abused him like a rubber doll. They injured his body, damaged his health and now tried to erase his soul. Well, somebody should have reminded them that Lucas was nobody's fool. He would now have the pleasure of reminding them the facts himself.
1. Chapter 1

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read his story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own SeaQuest, Star Wars, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators or broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

 **SeaQuest**

This story is Alternate Universe, most characters are OOC and there are several crossovers with the maritime-inspired series NCIS and JAG who are the most relevant to the situations facing Lucas and the crew of the SeaQuest. The cast of Bones makes an appearance as I will borrow Sweets and Booth for a spin. There is a lot of CIA, NSA, Homeland Security, Canadian Mounties and Coast Guard and multivaried organisations mentioned along the way. As such, given so many crossovers of equal proportions, I am again placing this in the general SeaQuest section of the fandom since it would not fit in a single sub-genre. My thanks for your tolerance of the situation.

This story is full-on **DARK** with a severe " **M** " rating for the usual goodies of sex, drugs, weapons & violence, mayhem, anarchy, murder, rape, torture, paedophilia by the rebound. There is Blood & Guts flying around like in a "B" class movie and Weapons of Mass Destruction being bandied about willy-nilly since there's a nuclear submarine with multiple bio-labs involved as the premise of the story.

There are multiple character deaths, suicides and disappearances more-or-less resolved.

I do not indicate this as an ELF because the people that hurt Lucas have never hidden from him their contempt or the fact they plan to kill him off if they ever lose control over him. Since there is no "gotcha" moment in the fic where all the allies turn on him and constrict him to slavery, it does no fit the basic definition for a functional ELF-trope.

Unlike my other story, " _Justice for Lucas_ ", this has absolutely no psionics, magicks or time engines involved even if such things were part & parcel of the SeaQuest canon in all three seasons.

 _I warn the people who are not used to my worldview of things to read my profile for an explanation, as my depiction of Bridger, Westphalen and other cherished lead characters will no doubt cause hot throats and writer's cramps as the complaints are voiced in droves._

PS; I like flames, they're fun to read so don't hesitate to write them.

 **SPECIAL WARNING** ; the language level of this one is particularly trashy and harsh in quantity of swears, cusses, epithets and non-flattering comparisons used per page. However, as I always warn people who read my work: this was pretty much normal in the school yard 30 years ago when I was a teenager. So, how can you have such a thin skin and be part of the same culture on the same continent if this is really that offensive to you? Where did you spend the last few decades, if you can't take a few hard words from the mouths of kids when these words have been around since before World War I?

 **The Insurrection of Lucas**

 **FOREPLAY; NO, I DIDN'T ENJOY THAT, YOU DUMB FUCKING BITCH!**

These things take time but they eventually come to a head. Anybody has a limit to how much pressure, exploitation and misery they can support before blowing a gasket. Teenagers are not the most stable of people under normal circumstances but when put in the place that Lucas was, it was a pretty good bet that an explosion would occur sooner than later.

Cynthia Holt was a lawyer who flew with the high rollers but didn't want to be reminded that she had a son since lugging a teenager around on business trips would cramp her diva style. Lawrence Wolenczak was a morally lazy bum who just wanted Lucas put in a box until he was 18 when he could no longer be held legally accountable for his boy's actions anymore; then he would cut ties and forget him pronto.

William Noyce was an opportunistic parasite who wanted power but that needed pedigree and money. While he could not change his birth, he could get rich and buy his way to the top. He got to the top of US Navy Intelligence by using black operations to _waylay obstacles_ whom were never heard from again while illegal hidden slush funds supported a steady climb up the admiralty, right to the rung under the Joint-Chiefs-of-Staff. Then the UEO flushed the UN down the toilet and all new players came to the field. They didn't want money as they had their own hidden slush funds already. They wanted raw applicable power just like him. What to do? Well, at that point Lawrence wanted a favor: if Noyce placed his son in a box for 2 years he would get access to the high rollers and be able to exploit Lucas for all the free science he could produce as it would be his to claim.

Lawrence got Cynthia to relinquish parental rights in a jiffy, she couldn't sign fast enough for her own taste and didn't understand what her ex could want with the smarmy little bastard. Lawrence then signed over unlimited custodial guardianship to the UEO Navy as such since Noyce thought himself smart by deflecting the custody to an organization rather than himself. After all, if he took custody, Lucas would have to live with him and his wife Janet but if the Navy took the guardianship, then it was expected that the organization determine a physical guardian and place of dwelling other than the UEO Executive Cabinet Building in New Cape Quest. Noyce also thought that any problems would be deflected unto the physical guardian or the Navy as an organization, not himself directly, so he could have the benefits of exploiting the kid without paying any price to anybody and the **Laws of the Land** be damned.

Lawrence was prostituting his son and Noyce was enslaving him to himself and to a warship but neither thought that The Law would apply to such mighty and lofty men of power and station.

They were wrong. Boy, were they ever wrong.

 **ESCAPE INTO THE BLUE YONDER**

 _(SeaQuest – season 1 opening theme)_

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 5:00am**

 **UEO flagship SeaQuest DSV 600; launch bay 3**

 **Off the coast of Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

Lucas Anton Wolenczak was not a happy camper, no sirree, he was not. It took all he could give to keep from screaming in agonizing pain and hatred against the counter-fucked fools aboard as he closed the launch bay airlock and turned to his only means of safety left inside the shitpit called SeaQuest; his brainchild, the monosub Stinger.

The fat, ill-aborted spawn of a bitch-whore Bill Noyce had poisoned Bridger's mind against him from the start by presenting him as a ' _discipline problem_ ' and he had been fighting against that defamatory tag on his name ever since. Even when he was completely honest and in the right, the defect Bridger kept trying to find a way to blame him or punish him for the events. It was to the point that even when he had video proof in hand of his innocence, the captain looked at him as if he was being denied a juicy treat because he couldn't punish him to his heart's content. Stupid paedophile! Lucas cleaned enough porn out of the servers every day to know damn fucking well how many people had fantasies about breaking and raping young children and teens to have a damn good idea what the man's thought process was. Hint: he wasn't thinking with the head visible on top of his shoulders!

Now that the rabid bint Westphalen was putting her two-cents' worth in the pot, trying to maneuver Bridger into proving he was a big powerful man by dominating and breaking Lucas to his will, things really hit the rough patch of the road. She kept promising to reward him in many ways, most of them of a sexual nature if he managed to control Lucas well enough that she was happy (orgasmic) about the resulting docile, submissive leeettle boy-oy-oy. Psssittt! What a fuckshit cunt, that one! She was a worse paedophile than the other as she had approached him on several occasions, MORE than friendly in her attemps, if you follow…

The frigid english bitch wanted him beaten down and submissive to her will so she could lord it over him at all times of day and put his face in the fact that he was just a minor-aged boy and not an adult, no matter how many times he saved their lives or the damned boat. For Christ's sakes, he fought mercenaries and terrorists from day one, survived multiple drownings, shootings and kidnappings but none of it was ever enough to earn being respected as a full human person by her or Bridger!

Well, that was enough crap! He finally had enough of the miserable pillocks trying to use him as a toy to justify or set up their bedroom games! He had proven publicly to those that mattered onboard the games that Westphalen and Bridger played with his life. The goal of it all was that the one that humiliated or hurt him the worst got a reward from the other, usually in bed, at the end of the day! Aaarghh! It was reduced to being a bloody fucking Milk Bone dog cookie, with two rabid mongrel dogs in heat fighting a tug-of-war about who got to munch him! It damn well had to stop! R-F-N!

The young man stood slanted to the right, heaving painfully like a fish out of water as his lungs tried to work despite the chemical damages and radiation poisoning he suffered. His right hand clutched at his sweaty blood-stained t-shirt over his aching chest, his left hand steadying his satchel and backpack that dragged on the ground behind him as he lost himself to memories he wanted to forget but could not escape.

 _The events that happened on the sea-deck's moon pool area three days ago._

The teenager shivered in shame, humiliation and self-loathing at both the actual events and his reaction to it. He gingerly passed a gentle, shaking hand over the left side of his face, left shoulder joint and finally his chest where the unmitigated apostle of bastardy, commander Ford, had punched him hard enough to fully crack three ribs at the junction of the solar plexus in his thorax. Just because he had the gumption to defend himself against Bridger and Westphalen's attempts to gang-up on him to actually beat him in public for their kicks and giggles, while the whole sea-deck watched and laughed along with them. Some cheap excuse for birth-control had even decided it was so much fun that he patched the security cameras to broadcast the scene across the ship and save it to off-ship servers in Brasil. His entire victimization, humiliation and final moral destruction at the hands of Bridger's henchmen were now public and circulating abroad on non-cyphered, unshielded networks. It had been a matter of minutes before questions started coming into the ship's security center, the comms station and directly to the captain and CMO on their executive emergency lines to the UEO Navy's admiralty.

Let's just say that the "Brass" were not happy. In fact, let's honestly spell it out loud openly that they were shitting bent, rusted nails from the mouth as fast and hard as Bridger was wont to abandon himself to expansive verbal ejactulations of cockshit. The difference was of course that they had a justified reason for being in a state of PMS without benefits; Bridger and cronies had no such claim. Not that it stopped them from mewling their babyish whining to any that got stuck near them so long they got noticed…

Suffice it to say, for the first time in a little more than seven months aboard, Lucas no longer felt physically safe. He was insulted and defamed, haunted and hunted, and finally injured enough to need hospitalization but he had been denied the care and support he needed to surmount the aggression and damages. His injuries were slowly killing him from inside and precious few gave any help at all. He could not let it continue as he was now in a real genuine risk to not just his welfare, but his health and his very life.

He was also coming to terms pragmatically with the fact that being prostituted off into indenture aboard a modern-day war-galley as the captain's _cabana-boi_ had damaged his mind to the point the idea of laying down to sleep peacefully and never wake up was starting to sound bloody good to his injured soul. He would need a crapton of counseling and survivor's assistance in a bad way if he wanted to save what was left of 'Lucas' inside of him. Leaning against the bulkhead, the depressive, injured child mourned for his youth, his kindness, his dreams and his equilibrium as they had all been murdered one by one by Lawrence, Noyce, Bridger, Westphalen and hundreds of others all working together to grind him down until he was just an organic drone. Workable, adaptable, but no personality.

Lucas straightened with great effort, taking one last look at the launch bay's inner airlock door, sneering in contempt. The sensors weren't working properly even though he had put out a work ticket three months ago about the faulty connectors and the frayed network wires. The last time he told Bridger about it last month, the captain told him sneeringly to his face, in front of the whole bridge crew: "Then stop being so damned lazy about it, useless waste of space! If you know it's faulty then fix it! That's your job isn't it, _mister chief computer analyst_? Stop trying to tell adults how to do their jobs and go play a video game somewhere! Maybe then you'll not be making so much racket then!"

The contempt dripping from the man's voice had been so thick and heavy it had almost made a puddle of poison on the deck at his feet. The teenager felt his face burning hot in undeserved shame and anger at the memory. The worse was that after that, all of his work tickets came back with a message that they had to be vetted by Bridger or else he would be accused of clogging the ship's message servers with scrap and false forms that he didn't have the right to write up. There were threats by low-level grunts who used to take orders from him since well before the tour started that they would have him punished for doing his damn job while they were just holding their asses with both hands! Fuckshits, all of them!

No, Lucas was done trying; now he was acting. Making certain he had all his computers, PAL, personal cellphone and several dozen memory packs from the SeaQuest servers, he huffed and winced in pain as he boarded his precious Stinger and keyed in the sequence to flood the launch bay to leave the ship. He even called out to the bridge to properly signal his departure and log in an estimated time of return tomorrow for the ship's scheduled departure at noon just before lunch bell sounded. Let the retarded cruds do of that whatever they wanted!

Lucas bit back a litany of oaths, wincing from the agonizing effort of driving the small boat to sea as it didn't have any power steering and he had to strain against the control stick to make the maneuvers. He hoped to get some medical and legal help ashore. Canada was an old time ally of the USA since World War I and there was a large contingent of both Canada Coast Guards and the Canadian Navy on permanent posting in Vancouver's harbor. The Mounties also had a heavy presence across the city, including riverine recovery patrols. Surely someone who was a professional sailor in one of those outfits could help him out to escape his illegal imprisonment.

If not, then hopefully the BC Child Welfare Department would take a dim view of the events on SeaQuest and not let him back onboard. He was now desperate enough for a hospital and some kind of pain relief that if calling himself a child got it for him, then Amen, Brother! _Pride goeth before the fall_ so it said somewhere... Funny thing that, since he was fresh out of the stuff…

Another fact of capital importance unknown to Lucas at the time was the temporary presence of an american **NCIS Major Cases Team** from their Washington DC central office. They were wrapping up a four day investigation aboard the US Navy Aegis destroyer Ruth Bader Ginsburg that was docked in Vancouver City's harbor following damages due to criminal negligence from a stoned out sailor in the main engine room during a storm at sea.

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs and his crack team of truly very special agents were about to lay down the Law on the UEO's self-styled finest and it would be as public as it would be spectacular.

 **SHIPS AHOY!**

 _(NCIS – opening theme)_

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 7:00am**

 **US Navy Aegis destroyer Ruth Bader Ginsburg**

 **Harbor of Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

"Captain, sir! I have a message from the Mounties at the Vancouver Port Authority for you and it's marked urgent! They want to know our operational status ASAP and a verbal answer from you R-F-N, sir!" the junior lieutenant at comms said as she tried desperately to keep calm. It was never a good idea to tell the ship's captain on his own bridge that somebody else was calling the shots and obliging him to do something with a big ' _or else_ ' hung over his head.

Since that was the condition they were all in for the last week since some _idjiot redneck_ had thought it wise to snort a line of coke during his shift in the engine room right in the middle of a storm pushing ten-foot triangular waves around the Pacific, well, you could understand that Captain George H. Wellesey was a mite uptight these days. So were the rest of the senior officers, _come to think of it_. The presence of NCIS agents, the top dogs from DC to boot, for the last four days really wasn't helping with the officers' flagging morale and the captain had been seen looking at the open ocean from the balcony outside the bridge on several occasions since the events happened. Scuttlebutt had it he was contemplating either early retirement or jumping into Mother Sea's embrace to avoid the shame of such misconduct happening under his watch.

Wellesey took the printout of the canadian message and after 60 seconds of reading swore out loud in such low-borne appalachian dialect that even the gunner, a spawn of Alabama's harshest trailer park scum looked impressed, though he had the brains to remain silent for fear of calling the angry officer's attention to himself.

Taking the public address microphone in hand, the captain practically yelled out "Bridge to all stations! Bridge to all stations! This is not a drill! Battle stations, general quarters! I repeat, this is not a drill! Battle stations, general quarters!" Turning to the watch officer at his left, he nodded angrily to start up the klaxons and alert lights all over the ship. "Helm! Engine status and best speeds available!"

Gulping passed a lump in his throat, the young ensign at the tiller pushed buttons on his console to interrogate the mighty vessel's brain and got a mildly pleasant answer. "Sir! They fixed her good in the last three days! We're up to two-thirds of our best, at about 20 knots for flanking speed and 15 knots for cruising! Both secondary engines are hot-idle, main engine online in 40 seconds on call, sir!"

The captain gave a cursory glance to who entered his bridge when the door opened behind him and saw exactly who he wanted. Handing Agent Gibbs the printout from the canadian Mounties, he turned to the Ex-O and gunners to issue orders in earnest: "Ex-O, engines ahead all, full steam on all pipes Right-Fucking-Now! Gunner, unlimber the 5 inch, 3 inch and CWIS side guns! Prep the torpedoes on bow and stern launchers then call out for the depth charges to be readied!"

Turning to the helicopter control station he told them to put both birds in the air with a subsurface warfare package ASAP. Facing the forward windscreens of the bridge he called out for the comms to put him on speaker throughout the ship and dependent vehicles.

"This is Captain Wellesey speaking: we're going squid hunting, people! The UEO fucked the pooch and there's a problem aboard the SeaQuest that smacks of the same bitchcrap that Madeleine Stark tried to pull two years ago! The canadians have an informant in the Port Authority and he has proof in the form of straight copies from the ship's security servers and communications logs. Bridger has finally lost his last marble and tried to get physical with one of his crew resulting in severe injuries and lifelong handicap to over a dozen people across the boat when he defended himself."

Taking a breath and grabbing the printout from Gibbs' hand, the veteran officer continued to explain the situation to his crew with what he had. "The Mounties verified the SeaQuest's servers through the UEO's direct emergency backdoors and then called the ship. Nothing was written anywhere and there is about four weeks worth of footage missing from the public-access servers and the classified-access ones are completely offline, which they never told anybody. That right there smacks of treason in the making! On top of that, they refused to put the captain, the Ex-O, Second officer or Chief of Security on the vidphone to ascertain the situation aboard. The CMO's executive line is dead and she refused to come to the bridge comm station to give affirmative reports of the situation. As of this moment, we are to consider the SeaQuest to be in hostile hands and we are taking her back by force! We have two Canadian Coast guard cruisers and one of their Navy's Frigate powering up engines as we speak to help us corral our damned ' _Maverick of the Seas_ ' back under control. Give the best you have! God Bless and Good Hunting to you all!"

From behind Wellesey, the air traffic controller called out: "Sir! Helo team 1 is pushing out to the flight deck; team 2 is gearing up behind them!"

The gunnery staion called out next: "Sir! Deck artillery 5 inch and 3 inch are readied, loaded with sub-wave explosives! CIWS Phalanx and side-mounts online! Both torpedo bays report loaded plasma warheads and ready to launch on call! Depth charges ready in 2 minutes!"

The sensor officer yelled out loud over the noise for all to hear "Captain! Sir! The seaQuest is powering her reactor and magnetic impellers! Were detecting a big heat bloom in the engine section and warmth rising all across the ship indicate she his pushing steam to all pipes! No indicators from her weapons ports or launch bays yet! No comms… Fuck! She's no longer broadcasting the IFF beacon! Neither USA nor UEO identifications! She's preparing to run silent!"

NCIS Senior Special Agent Gibbs leaned forward to speak to the captain in low voice "You think you or the Canadians can catch up to her in open waters if she makes it out of the harbor?"

Wellesey snorted angrily as he chewed out his answer for the federal agent. He actually liked Gibbs and had planned on having a glass of scotch with him before he left the ship. Now that plan was going down the crapper at flanking speeds and someone was going to lose skin over it! "Not in your best pipe dreams we don't! She does 200 kph underwater on a slow day and we crawl around at 40 on the surface because our engines are still hobbled from last week's snafu! If she finishes powering the drives, she'll disappear and we'll never find her unless Bridger decides to surface and wave a fluorescent hot pink flag that says 'Here I am!' for all of Creation to see!"

Gibbs grunted amused at the old sea wolf's humor under fire while the door opened to let in NCIS special agent Timothy McGee with his backpack of tech. "What you need boss?" he asked between harried shallow breaths as the rushed climb from the ship's engine block had taken its toll on him.

"The SeaQuest McGee! What can you tell me about her cyber security, specifically the crew that keeps her network safe?" the Boss answered in an urgent but steady, even tone. He knew that Tim worked well under pressure but that didn't mean he had license to yell or be rough with the man without due cause. Given he had just sprinted almost half the ship to get here so fast, he was nowhere late and the preliminaries weren't even done with yet.

"She's really AWOL again, Boss? Ah, crap! Hacking into that system'll be like trying to get Tony to stop with the blasted movie references long enough to save his life from Ziva! And the protections on the classified servers are worse than the White House and World Bank put together!" Tim swore out with a congested expression on his face as he contemplated that, yes, his Boss was just sixty seconds away from asking him to hack into the most aggressively defended motorized fortress in the UEO arsenal.

Wellesey co-opted the conversation by asking McGee directly "The Mounties have one of SQ's crew in the Port Authority building sporting life threatening injuries that haven't been treated in the three days since they were done. The man was refused treatment by the captain and CMO directly to his face and in full view of the whole crew while their PA system was recording it."

Several of the bridge crew winced in sympathy or clenched their teeth, outraged at the thought. Even a sailor headed for the brig for insubordination or attacking an officer would first get any injuries treated in sickbay first and the rest in his cell by a corpsman. That was the written law of both the USA and UEO navies! What the fuck were they doing on that barge?

McGee blinked owlishly as he was wont to do when he faced something truly despicable and asked in a low, almost menacing voice "Who is it the Canadians got ashore?"

Wellesey smirked in satisfaction at the young man's tone; it always warmed his old heart to see a serviceman with a backbone and a good sense of moral outrage. "The brief from the Mounties' call for help says it's a _Wooleechack_ fellow..." He never finished his sentence as Tim pounced on the paper in the older officer's hand, grabbing it like a vulture after carrion and speed-read through until he saw the name. The wide predatory smile on his young face sent shivers down the spines of the less experienced officers while Gibbs asked in a more optimistic tone of voice "Something good in there, Tim? You look like the time you heard Tony had food poisoning and would be out of office for a week of bed rest..." His playful smirk told his agent that this particular joke would stay between them.

Tim's answer was a megawatt smile he usually kept for when the case was closed and the paperwork was in the filing cabinet at long last. "They are dead in the water but don't know it yet! The guy in custody with the Mounties is Chief Computer Analyst Lucas Wolenczak, the very guy in charge of EVERYTHING on board the ship that has a screen, a circuit board or even just a battery attached to it. He runs their cyber security and is responsible amongst other achievements of boosting up the World Bank's inter-governmental transaction hub, the White House classified servers, the NORAD classified servers at Cheyenne Mountain and the UEO's cyphering to keep the orbital laser platforms from getting hacked by terrorists. THIS is THE guy that decides if the boat does anything other than float on its own buoyancy, and even then, they have to ask him nicely to keep him happy!"

The younger agent turned to the windows and looked outside, trying to see something and then he pointed out to the open waters just out of the actual harbor zone. "Look! Right on schedule! - Snort! - They thought they could injure this guy and keep control! What a bunch of retards! That ship is 98% automated by a neuronal computer; it's a geek paradise with a motor attached. And the stupid cruds thought they could just smack around the guy that keeps it all ticking without paying the butcher's price for the meat he cut them? Pathetic lackwits!"

The first officer of the Ginsburg came at his captain's left side and cleared his throat noisily to have the man's attention. "Sir. The Port Authority just called again. It seems that when he learned that the ship was not responding to hails and had in fact begun destroying logs, records and trying a very sloppy modification of its black-box recorders, CCA Wolenczak got himself a dingy little smartphone and just told the boat to power down and get on the surface for an easier boarding action on our part. They have their three ships still steaming towards us and deploying RHIBs and MR-class shuttles as we speak, sir."

McGee's gleeful, vengeful chortle cut off any response from the captain as the SeaQuest rose at waterline, ponderously turning her bow towards the harbor, beginning forward movement at only one tenth of its best speed at at crawl's pace of 20 kph. The ship opened ports on its back, launched three white flares then began broadcasting live feed from its internal sensors on the uncoded public-access emergency frequency. Somebody really wanted the Canadians and Americans an easy walk to the heart of the problem.

The Ginsburg's sensor chief called out to the captain "Sir! The Hostile has begun beaming signals to all freqs that she is moving at parking speeds to a berth inside the deep zone of Vancouver Port, right next to their Military Navy Sector. She has activated emergency beacons; demand rescue, demand mechanical assistance, demand medical assistance, senior officers no longer functional to hold the ship! She is calling out to be derelict! What are your orders, sir?"

The captain sat imperiously in his chair and called out "Steady your stations, men! Keep us on flanking route and get behind her to corral her into the harbor proper! Don't let anybody but us and the beavers get at 'em! Ex-O prepare a boarding party by RHIB and shuttles! This is Canada's catch inside their waters and their harbor but I want us with boots inside that sardine can last week! I want to know from our own people what the fuck crawled up Bridger's back-hole for him to lose control of his damned boat like this!"

Gibbs knocked on the backrest of the captain's chair as if it were the front door to a house. When the man looked to him he replied with that megawatt smile and twinkling blue eyes of his: "If there's a crime on a navy ship of the USA, it's our jurisdiction even when they are loaned out to the UN or now the UEO. I'll get my team situated and I'll be amongst the first batch of boarders with agents David and DiNozzo while McGee goes aground to the Mounties to start the process with this Wolen-something guy."

Wellesey pursed his lips in thought. Since this was active combat, he could deny the request and tell the man to wait until the boat was cleared but then the other guys would have the first information and the derelict crew might manage to get their stories and false proofs together. "All right, do it that way! But could you have your man talk to the other guy first, see if he could stop their anti-intruder defenses and cede control of the electronics to us while were boarding the ship?"

Timothy went to the comms console, placing a friendly hand on the crewman's back to signify support for the woman. "Could you patch me to Wolenczak with the Mounties? I need to talk to him. Thanks."

It took about two minutes for the link to happen during which time the massive girth of SeaQuest was still moving slowly towards the shore like a dying whale about to beach itself.

The bridge crew listened to the conversation's two sides as McGee had the forethought to have it on the speakers for Gibbs and the captain to understand what they were working with.

Every person on the bridge felt their gut drop when the face of Lucas Wolenczak appeared on the vidphone screen. He was lying backwards in a gurney, covered in bandages with several IV lines in both wrists and his left leg in traction with a temporary plastic cast from ankle to hip. His face was so pocked and discolored that it now looked like the remains of a pizza left on the sidewalk for two months in the dead heat of summer.

But what really had Wellesey, Gibbs and every other person on the bridge grit their teeth in anger was the very visible age and small size of the child laying immobile and vulnerable in the bed. The large six-foot two-inches tall Canadian Coast Guard's corpsman standing beside him certainly made the proportions clear to them all.

The child opened war-weary eyes almost bluer than Gibbs' own and said in a raspy, halting voice "Lucas Wolenczak, former slave, pain toy and all around bitch of SeaQuest, reporting as ordered."

Seeing the officers' doubtful faces, the boy held up his UEO badge and citizenship card to the lens of the vidphone as proof of identity and wound up coughing blood for his strenuous effort.

 **DERELICT VESSEL**

 _(Stargate Universe – opening theme)_

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 7:00am**

 **UEO Flagship (** _in abeyance_ **) SeaQuest DSV 6000**

 **Beach of Vancouver City Harbor, British Columbia, Canada**

With a surprising grace that belied her thousand foot length and five storeys of height, the biologically armored leviathan glided unrelentingly towards certain death as it lined up to the beach ahead and augmented speed to almost 70Kph to give itself a boost to climb the sand band all the way to the end.

In just three more short minutes it was all done but the weeping and gnashing of teeth; the SeaQuest had willingly beached at high tide on a deep, muddy stretch of sediment that would turn to muck like quicksand when the water receded in less than a half-hour. The unnatural scrunching noises of the bio-hull against the gravelly, muddy bottom were never meant to be heard. Neither was the sound of massive steel girders, each designed for sustained effort at 30,000 feet below the seas, as they snapped and blew outwards from the ship's bow, their explosive release resounding across the whole harborage. No one who was awake didn't hear her last mournful cries as she died a shameful end on the beach like a dead fish tossed by a careless storm.

As soon as the eddies from the Grand Lady's suicidal run had ebbed out, the flotilla of Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats swarmed around, looking for ingress points or weakened segments of armor to pry apart to make one. They had barely begun gesticulating and radioing each other that the massive launch bay doors on both sides strained their hydraulics one last time to partially open quarter-way before dying out.

The three canadian SeaKing helicopters overhead were soon joined by the chopper from the Ginsburg and her sister was about to lift up. Several MR-class shuttles were breaching surface and coming in hot at flanking speeds to beach as close to the Quest's entry points as possible to disembark the marines, sailors, Mounties and NCIS that were all rushing to secure the three greatest threats aboard the massive hull. She had a cold fusion reactor that could be overloaded into a nuclear explosion; she had 12 ICBM in the vertical launchers and 4 Mark 11 nuclear torpedoes and finally she had the stores of incredibly toxic chemicals and virulent bio-agents in her laboratories to start epidemics with.

The clock was at midnight-minus-one and everybody felt they were playing catch-up in a game they could only win if the guy ahead stumbled and never got back up. They got their brake from an unlikely source just in time.

"Attention all personnel taking part in the SeaQuest boarding action! This is the Vancouver harbor authority! We have incoming tac-specs for all of you! I am putting on the horn the former Chief Computer Analyst of the SQ!"

There was a brief cough and phlegmy spit heard before a shallow, reedy voice sounded out of the speakers and headphones of the assembled strike force.

"My name is Lucas Wolenczak – _Cough!_ \- _Spit!_ \- Sorry 'bout that... Got a bit of bile coming up... Anyways... The Quest fusion core is cooling down to its maintenance shutdown level and will need a drydock to restart it. The missiles in the dorsal tubes have been physically disarmed, they can't launch or ignite to self destruct in their berths. Same with the Mark 11's in the torpedo bay in the bow. The chems are up in the air and I mean that... Internal sensors and camera feeds show extensive spillage and lab equipment breakages all over the sea-deck, workshops and the infirmaries. The situation is now classed HAZMAT-3 at the least, so send in only people in hardened white suits."

Everybody heard the death-rattle like breathing that followed, the small insecure voice continuing afterwards: "All CIWS disabled and locked. All anti-aircraft missiles disabled and locked. All internal blast doors that still work have been moved and locked in open position or closed when I could help contain the bio-spills in limited areas. I had to turn off the ventilation to keep the poisonous gases from traveling around the ship's guts and venting out while she's on the surface. All Mainframe & PAL functions and usage now routing through my portable server at the Port Authority and cyphered along world Bank protocols LAW-2019-10/ceta spread. - _Cough!_ \- _Choking!_ \- _Spit! -_ and - _Cough!_ \- Ahh, sorry 'bout tat... Good hunting people. Wolenczak, Vancouver P-A, over  & out."

 _(Two Steps From Hell – Never Back Down)_

All the RHIB's settled on the waves to await new orders for HAZMAT deployment while the shuttles took back out to the water to avoid possible exposure as they had barely any bio-insulation. The situation looked grim and impossible when there were sudden explosions heard around the ship at a dozen places. A quick scan with binoculars and helo cameras confirmed that crew from the derelict had blown the suicide-bolts on escape hatches and were trying desperately to flee the marooned ship.

As one, acting on instinct and experience, all the intervention vehicles converged on the fleeing humans, M60, M1911 and AR-15 guns at the ready for any hostilities. Boy were they surprised to be called out and greeted like holy saviors by the traumatized, shaken and drenched people that were streaming out of SeaQuest's deathly remains.

There was no hope in there now; only in front of them, whatever the future held.

Former MOSSAD and current NCIS special agent Ziva David leaned close to the 1st class sailor from the Ginsburg who was adroitly piloting their RHIB, shouting at him while pointing with an authoritative finger "There! Those two! The gangly one with glasses and the athletic latino by his side! Those are bridge crew from the Quest! Get over to them quickly before the canadians get them!"

Tony gestured to the four marines with them and shouted "She's right! Them there's prime information going in the drink! We need them ASAP before another skiff gets ahold of 'em!"

The pilot yelled back "Just do it under 15 minutes or we'll get stuck in the silt when the tide finishes ebbing out! It pretty shallow around here as it is!"

Getting some thumbs up from Gibbs and the marine sergeant, the pilot took them almost to the hull of the dying beast. They managed to flag the two senior staffers before anyone else. As they helped them down out of the hatch's emergency inflatable chute and into the RHIB, they flashed their NCIS badges and nobody in the skiff missed the real, frank relief in their faces as they collapsed in the dinghy's bow. It wasn't missed either when they both extended their arms with a resigned look when Tony flashed his cuffs to try and intimidate some answers out of them on the quick and dirty.

Gibbs sat on one of the folding seats extending from the RHIB's sideboard and asked in a clear commanding tone that he nonetheless kept very even and non-aggressive. "My name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs with NCIS out of DC. We share jurisdiction with the canucks on this clusterfuck you call a boat. Now what in the bloody blue blazes happened in there?"

The one with the glasses and the name tag 'O'Neil' on his shirt bypassed Gibbs as if he wasn't even sitting a foot in front of his face. That was quite the first experience for the NCIS team and for Gibbs in particular as NOBODY ignored him when he used that tone, not even his Director or SecNav.

"Where's Lucas? Is he alright? He was injured real bad the last few days but Bridger kept holding out on healing him to get him to do... I dunno what... Is he okay? Did he make it to shore and got help?"

"You know damned well what Bridger wanted Lucas to do Tim! He wanted him on his knees in front of everybody to suck his dick in earnest to apologize for having any dignity and backbone! Something a whole lot of us shoulda had a long time ago when we signed up but didn't!"

"Fuck you Migs! A lot of us did anything we could under the radar but Bridger went _Stark_ -mad on us and Westphalen was pushin' him on the same she always did! Where were you when it all went down, hein?!"

Tony DiNozzo put his fingers in his mouth and whistled long and shrill to get 'em silent for a spell. "Now gentlemen, is there anybody in this fleeing horde of wastrels that we need to get in priority or are they just as noisome as the pair of you?"

Ortiz pointed at two people who went down the chute then held each other against the retreating tide's currents. "Yeah, them! It corpsman Braddock and civilian nurse Cerillian! They both helped after the blow-out on sea-deck three days ago and then secretly tried to help Lucas when they could get away with it. We need 'em to tell you guys what happened to Luke or Bridger and his goons 'll hang him short and hard when they get out!"

Ziva thumped the pilot's shoulder pad and pointed to the other two lost souls near the mammoth ship's hull that were being ignored by the other fleeing escapees. "We need those A-S-A-P! Can we get close again?"

The pilot shook his head resignedly but gunned the engines and pushed them against the retreating surf to close-in on their targets before the canadians did. They wanted to, and would, cooperate fully with them but that didn't mean letting the neighbor have all the cards in hand when the game started.

"Last call people, Mother Sea's pulling in the welcome mat and snuffing the lights!" their pilot yelled.

Gibbs signaled with his hand and spoke in the mike of his earset "Good enough, sailor! In & out on the sly!"

As the skiff came in at flanking speeds, it was actually O'Neil and Ortiz who reached out overboard to grasp their extended arms and yank them aboard to speed up their turnaround back to open sea.

As the full RHIB went back towards the R.B. Ginsburg at peak velocity, the marines took any weapons or sharps from the escapees, bound their hands and covered them in mylar blankets since all four were exhibiting the first symptoms of multiple shocks and traumas.

Gibbs leaned over the huddled four and asked in his clear commanding voice: "What happened aboard that damned barge that Wolenczak thought he needed to ground her bones to shreds?"

 **TALE OF SORROW**

 _(Frederich Chopin – funeral march)_

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 9:00am**

 **US Navy Aegis destroyer R.B. Ginsburg; brig interrogation room #2**

 **Harbor of Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

The door to the dreary little room opened harshly with a grating sound that only un-oiled jail doors ever seem able to make. The very feminine yet distinctly powerful form of MOSSAD / NCIS agent Ziva David sauntered in, yanking the steel door shut so hard it sounded like the gates of Paradise closing in the face of the heathens. That was probably her intention, judging by her impish smile and playful demeanor as she pulled a chair and sat in front of the four people lined up at the far side of the table.

She was actually glad that while the man O'Neil seemed ill at ease in her presence, he didn't back down or look away just as his friend Ortiz gazed at her dispassionately like she was a bleep on the screens of his sensors. The other two were much more emotional and reactive to her entrance but since they were both healers and more in tune to human emotions, that was expected in her scheme.

"My name is MOSSAD officer Ziva David, on loan to NCIS as part of an exchange program, so don't bother with the rank pulling or the ' _I know SecNav_ ' routine." She pulled a utility blade from her right boot and casually flicked it open before ramming it an inch deep through the the metal tabletop as if it were just a slice of bread.

"Let us be clear, yes?" she asked in her almost demure tone and smile, "The secretary of the Navy is not pleased about the state of wreckage the SeaQuest is in and even less pleased by the state of a certain _multi-genial super prodigy_ your crew was tasked with protecting and fostering to adulthood. There are questions, yes, and pressing ones at that. You have answers and could earn quite the gratitude from SecNav if you supply them without, shall we say, needless delays by haggling and prevaricating."

The three men and one woman seated in front of her simply looked at her as if she were an infant girl taking her first steps without a walker or stroller to hold on; important in a ' _she's so cute!_ ' kinda way but far from vital or national emergency type of graveness. O'Neil adjusted his glasses with his left hand, moving freely as they were all unfettered after having expressed a desire to cooperate fully.

"Listen here sweetie" the bespectacled man started up condescendingly while Braddock choked on his spit and Cerillian looked at him as if he were sporting a brand new head next to the old one. Ortiz seemed to ignore him like a pouting younger brother in a tiff. "We lived on a boat with enough firepower to wipe out the planet 9 times by itself before even counting our daily access to the armed services of the world, the control of the orbital laser platforms and the One and Only Lucas Wolenczak to keep our menial lives interesting. And you KNOW the old chinese proverb about _'living in interesting times_ ', don't you, hemmm?" He smiled quite unpleasantly at her and piqued her a bit by finishing with "Now be a good little errand agent and fetch the boat's captain and your team Boss so we talk amongst the heavy weights without having to dumb down the conversation or the classification levels. Speaking in bleeps to emulate the redacted sections in a report gets old quick."

Ziva's answering smile was fire and brimstone of its own but she actually enjoyed dealing with a man who didn't just drool stupidly while ogling her boobs or piss himself in fear about her credentials. Maybe this O'Neil would be free for a glass of wine and a little fun later on. If Gibbs, captain Wellesey and the SecNav left anything of him at any rate.

She dimpled a smirk and purred "I'll be right back with the big boys, just for you..."

Ortiz smacked O'Neil's shoulder lightly and complained "Of all the times to grow a backbone and flirt with a bad girl! And the one investigating us, to boot! Harrr'yu daft mate?" he drawled out playfully.

Timothy shrugged and replied vaguely "She plays dog-eats-dog; I wasn't gonna be dog food. We learned from watching Lucas fight the _Bitchess_ what happens when the mongrels get their fangs into innocent people and bystanders don't take up arms to defend the community. Never again, brother mine. Never again as long as I live." His calm oath solidified the tempers and resolve of his three cellmates. If mild-mannered, self-effacing Timmy could stand up to the NCIS, MP's, Mounties, SecNav and everything else lined up in front of them, then so could they.

For Lucas they would endure and help who they could.

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 9:38am**

 **US Navy Aegis destroyer R.B. Ginsburg; brig interrogation room #2**

 **Harbor of Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

The door slammed open again but this time it was an older white male with a completely bald head and two racks of medals on his uniform shirt. The ship's master had come calling, followed by agent Gibbs and another who wore a canadian Mounties jacket and shirt. Taking the center seat as his right-of-the-land, the captain stayed standing as the others sat then prepared recording devices, papers, pens and several photographs to show during the preliminary interrogation.

"My name is captain George H. Wellesey, commanding officer of the R.B. Ginsburg, presiding this examination hearing. At my right is NCIS agent and team Boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. At my left is the canadians' Royal Mounted Police officer captain Raphael Montigny, expert in military & UEO laws."

The senior sailor sat and gazed each suspect in the eyes and asked forcefully "What da tarnation happen to Quest to go off reservation like that? Did Bridger go ' _Maverick of the seas_ ' again?"

O'Neil shrugged and answered blithely "Its mindbogglingly simple yet also very complex at the same time, hence why it devolved into a clusterfuck of international proportions."

Ortiz snorted amusedly and spoke up "Ain't that the only way that Luke gets involved in anything, though? If it ain't big and flashy, it's not worth the effort he used to say... Wonder if he still thinks that nowadays..."

Nurse Cerillian piped up for the first time and asked politely but with forcefulness in her tone and manners "Where is Lucas? Did you get him to a hospital yet? He needs several emergency surgeries and antibiotic treatments for a plethora of infections, poisons and radiation decon. I tried to help, to get him meds under the radar but when Bridger, Westphalen or their patsies weren't around to watch us, Lucas himself was hiding deep and I couldn't find him. Please tell me what treatments he is getting."

The two americans gazed sideways at the Mountie who cleared his throat and spoke softly for such a beefy, 300 pounds of muscled might. "CCA Wolenczak is en route to Vancouver's Military Exclusion and Containment Hospice for Servicemen. He was given a cursory exam and first aid at the Port Authority administration building and laid out on a gurney as soon as they could wheel the thing to his side. He was pulling six different IV's when they put him in the armored ambulance to drive to the Hospice. He had a leg in field cast, his chest was immobilized and he was diagnosed with two different concussions from two separate events. My men and the soldiers taking him noticed heavy reticence at the presence of large men but even worse against women doctors as he became agitated, almost violent to get them away from him."

Braddock snorted angrily at the news "Course he's pissed at women docs! Let a guy in Westphalen's hands long enough and 'at's what you get! Your all lucky he didn't pull a weapon or vial of disease from somewhere to fight 'em off!" the corpsman growled out at the senior officers.

"Come off it! Lucas isn't that paranoid or that aggressive." Ortiz countered. "If he were, then half the boat would have died from the spanish flu already. He may get tetchy around women medics for a while to come but won't actually act out against them if they respect his body and his limits when he tells 'em to back off. If they go a tut-tut-tting and bypass his choices or his privacy like the _Bitchess_ was doing all day, then yeah, your looking at a meltdown." the cuban conceded to his friend.

Gibbs lifted an eyebrow and asked tersely "You called her the ' _Bitchess_ ' a few times now, what is that?"

O'Neil smirked nastily and replied easily "It's what you get when you cross your average right nasty back-alley bitch with a high born duchess who farts out of her fake smile all day: a ' _Bitchess_ '. It's a term Lucas invented just because of how Westphalen would carry on all day about how she's better than the ship, better than her job really needs, better than the people on board, better and more cultured than americans and anybody not britannic... She's just plain old white trash but from a plusher heap than most and she thinks cuz 'o that it makes her special and smell better compared to everybody else."

Nurse Cerillian added "Lucas calls her a mini-nazi or a colorless shirt because unlike the brown shirts back in the day, she doesn't have the strength of conviction to step forward and act according to her beliefs. She always sends out flesh puppets to do her dirty work. She cajoles them with her emotional manipulations and promises of easy sex until they debase themselves to her self-styled imaginary authority like they are the cheap whores instead of her."

Braddock clenched his fists angrily and chewed out "It's her type that makes men weary of letting any women into the armed services cuz she's exactly the type to spread her _favors_ around to manipulate emotionally the officers into dereliction of duty and betraying their comrades, just like she did with Lucas and Bridger. There wouldn't have been been a war aboard the Quest if that street strutting slut had'na been there to start it with her mind games."

Cerillian pursed her lips in displeasure and explained "She likes dominance games not only in bed but all through her life. It arouses her and she isn't shy about showing it or screaming a fit of rage when she's denied her fun at seeing people bent like pretzels to satisfy her desire to control and violate people to feel powerful. She's physically weak and mentally not even an eighth of Lucas' mind so she took a rabid dislike to him. She was always trying to start games with the captain where he got ' _rewarded_ ' for being a brave powerful man when he managed to get the _rebellious uncivilized child_ to comply with orders that were stupid, useless or lead to Lucas being publicly demeaned so bad that almost nobody thought about him as competent or needed aboard ship anymore."

Ortiz added "I saw them at it many times in the last two months and it sickened me that they used Luke like that! He's just turned sixteen six months ago, damn it all! Here is one of the earliest examples from 17 weeks ago at the beginning of when it started going down the crapper. They were talking in the corridor by the galley about who would get what from the person who managed to order him into eating shellfish even though he's badly allergic. Westphalen wanted a proof of power, a proof that Bridger really had solid, preponderant authority over the kid. She wanted to see him publicly deny his allergy and then eat shellfish as penance for lying to them about it. Well, she called it lying but we knew different, the dumb cunt!"

Cerillian spoke out "Lucas' allergy to shellfish was discovered and documented at Stanford University when he was 11 years old following a meeting with potential financial backers for one of his projects. They had invited the 3 teachers involved along with Lucas to a japanese place that served freshly prepared seafood right at your table. Real upscale, pricey place too. Lucas got sick just after the first bite and almost choked to death when his airways closed and his eyes temporarily lost sight for a week and a half. He never went close to a seafood place since."

O'Neil jumped in "And that's the point: the allergy is in his file since five years ago but it wasn't Westphalen that diagnosed it, so she's challenging it as worthless and a lie. She publicly said repeatedly that he was lying just to make his _otherwise menial and meaningless biology_ interesting to talk about. She refuses to acknowledge the medical results produced by other medics and Bridger started backing her about it. They hatched a plan to secretly put ground shellfish in his food and watch his reaction so they could punish him for lying and faking medical reports when he didn't get sick."

The nurse was now gripping the edge of the table and spat out venomously "Well, we didn't manage to stop them and Lucas was poisoned by them. He did get badly sick and when doctor Levine ran the blood-allergy tox panel, they still accused him of faking and still tried to punish him so Westphalen could scratch the itch in her flaming crotch about it. Boy was she furious when it was proved in public she was the one lying and then it was discovered by watching the security videos that she had drugged his bowl of soup with shellfish parts before it was taken to him in the dining area. She was accused of trying to cause harm just for kicks, poisoning a crew member, damaging the ship's efficiency and so on but Bridger quashed it all."

Ortiz snorted in contempt "The old bowser came in tail a'waggin' about how such a good and loyal woman couldn't possibly do any wrong, especially to a little child she loved so dearly. She had just tried a test to find if he was truthful and it backfired but Lucas would forgive her and that would be it. No consequences for her beyond some hugs and TLC because she got so scared by his reaction to the food. And then the man has the gall to call Lucas a liar for not spelling out how fast and dangerous his allergy was! He tried to call him a liar, a faker and dangerously idiotic about his health so he could try to put punishments and restrictions on his movements and scientific research just like the _Bitchess_ wanted done all along! He was the victim of a conspiracy to hurt and destroy his health but he was the one slated for sanctions at the end of the day!"

Captain Wellesey asked the obvious question in the minds of the three senior officers "Wasn't there an inquest? A formal complaint filed? A demand for a medical review board? Didn't this doctor, Levine you said, write to the medical review board about her malversations and poisoning a child?"

Nurse Cerillian practically shouted "Of course he did! Joseph Levine is an honest, honorable man who deserves his license and titles better than any physician I served with in 14 years of career! But what does that count for when your enemy his simply executing the will of Admiral Noyce and US Naval Intel's hush money covers up so much depravity so easily! Anything else that doesn't lie down before threats of disappearing in the dead of the night winds up a dead body dropped in the sea! Noyce will stop at nothing to get his will done and his authority viewed as above and beyond all laws and governments!"

O'Neil added more slowly, ordering his thoughts as he did "William Noyce is the source of the problems on SeaQuest and in many places elsewhere. He wields unlawful money from illegal slush funds that he tells the US President and UEO Secretary General that it comes from seasing caches during drug raids and flushing out mafia bosses. It's false. He has people like Lucas hack into the lesser known and poorly defended banks, create accounts and then fill them with a randomized number of dollars before transferring everything to a receiving account in the name of US Naval Intel that only he knows about. Then the ghost accounts are wiped and often enough the hacker is drugged to forget what he did for who. After a dozen times with the drugs, it burns out their memory centers and makes then vegetables so they get killed and dumped."

Ortiz looked to Wellesey and spoke in haunted tones "We were told by Lucas that one of the more common threats that Noyce makes against him is to use that drug on him. To give him enough so he can walk, talk and wash himself but never remember his science or his higher skills. He routinely threatens to turn him into a retard and then sell him to a brothel run by the Triads in North Korea where there's no coming back from." The cuban sailor wiped the tears from his face as he huffed angrily at his own weakness. "Three days ago, just after the events on sea-deck, I heard with my own ears, not through a camera or sensor, Bridger and Westphalen talk with Noyce on an unregistered cellphone. They were talking about whether they could still dominate him physically and mentally or had the time to drug the kid into a stupor finally come. They got the go ahead by Noyce to finish off Lucas if they couldn't pull him back into the games and make him silently docile again."

Gibbs pulled out his cellphone and called McGee. "Tim! We got incoming hot on your tail! Admiral Noyce from US Naval Intel put a hit on your protectee. Dig what you can about him and don't let anybody from USNI or the UEO navy brass anywhere near Lucas Wolenczak. Shoot to kill if you have to, these people are planning on silencing him and anybody in the way doesn't count as people in their eyes. Don't trust anybody until Ziva and Tony get there, I'll follow in as soon as I can get the gist of what triggered the melt down beyond the ass-crap I'm wallowing in right now. Over!"

O'Neil answered blithely, in a deadpan tone. "Lucas finally became the undisciplined, rebellious, dangerous delinquent that Noyce and Westphalen always accused him of being. He realized that either he fought back against Bridger's abuses or he wouldn't make it alive to the next shore leave. So he resisted and fought back, and he won. We lost. The UEO lost. The dead ship on the beach proves it, we lost big time. All because a trio of jerk-wads couldn't keep their pants on or their hands to themselves."

Ortiz added in almost a whisper "And then sea-deck happened three days ago..."

The four friends lowered their heads in remembrance, ashamed at what occurred that they were powerless to stop. As always, it was their young friend who suffered for the crimes and excesses of others. Well now, no more! They would help or they would suffer besides him."

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 14:03am**

 **Diefenbaker Military Hospice; HAZMAT remedial containment**

 **Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

NCIS special agent Timothy McGee wondered if now was a good time in life to start smoking. He had a nice collection of pipes at home that served just as decorations but he could see himself with a cute meerschaum pipe lazily wafting its ethereal wisdom for him to contemplate. It also made him wonder what kind of hospital offered smoking and vaping accessories in its gift shop's catalogue. The advert for legal medicinal marijuana certainly had him dwelling on the cultural differences between the neighboring countries that were the national BFF's of North America.

Heavy plodding footsteps accompanied by a softer steady tread he could recognize anywhere had him put the catalogue down besides his chair on the table and stand up. The waiting room was ideal as it had three doors only: a unisex bathroom, the in-way and the airtight access to the single bed HAZMAT-ICU visible through the hardened ballistic glass. Anybody wanting to harm the patient had to go through this room and McGee's dedicated resistance.

Tim adjusted his jeans, flannel shirt and leather jacket out of reflex more than need, he was after all impeccable as always, but hearing Gibbs' footsteps coming always reminded him of his father in a snit and made him squirm. Even after almost eight years of serving with him, Tim still felt awkward and vulnerable around the older agent, especially when he was in a snit. And a US nuclear submarine beached to death in a foreign country counted as snit-worthy, wouldn't you know...

"McGee, situation on the principal! Is he breathing? Can he talk?" Gibbs asked without preamble "And was there any activity to indicate an attempt against him since he left the barge?"

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, the move making his short jacket ride up to expose the badge and pistol holster at his belt. Calmly he shook his head and answered with a sigh "No on all fronts except breathing, Boss. He's out cold since he gave the tac-rep to the boarding parties and hasn't wakened since. I haven't seen anything hostile and the hospice personnel are all on high alert against intruders and assassination attempts. Everybody is aware of who is in that bed and how vital to the investigation he is. The canadians are not letting anybody through. They beefed security after the gurney and I passed the entrance. Oh, and Vance mass-emailed with a report that Admiral Noyce has gone to ground but his wife Janet was found at the NCQ memorial hospital undergoing some routine check-ups for her arthritis and back pains. She got taken in as soon as the doctors cleared her for transport and Vance expects her in custody of the FBI in DC at the end of the day. The presidential secret services are lending the FBI a Lear jet to bring her at the Hoover Building post haste."

Gibbs gifted his agent with one of his rare smiles and nodded in appreciation for a job competently executed. "I see you don't have your laptop out, why aren't you typing away at some search?" the Boss asked curiously. McGee rarely missed an opportunity to dig around people's cybernetic backyard; he should be hard at it, rooting out anything about the Quest and her crew.

Tim held up a small plastic case that was recognized as a data pack from the SeaQuest's mainframe. "Here it is boss. 9/10 of the job done for us. This is the digital evidence catalog of EVERYTHING you want to know about SeaQuest, her crew and their families, businesses, associates, background checks and the checks on who were vetting them for service. Same with Admiral Noyce's entourage. All curtesy of the snarky little brat in charge of their IT and cyber security. When I told you they had to play nice or suffer, I wasn't kidding."

"Oh, really Tim?" asked a sudden voice from besides the three agents "And how bad is the damage? Surely such a small child – teenager - could not do that much with just a keyboard and web access, yes?" inquired Ziva from behind Anthony DiNozzo's back where she had quietly lain in wait, ambushing potential trouble.

McGee blinked twice, wondering at how much coffee he needed to drink to wake up since he had not at all seen her come in. Damn, the girl was good! "Well, Ziva, he has a master's degree in artificial intelligence AND the highest grade-point average in the history of Stanford U. Add an Internet line and an unlawfully stoked cellphone and trouble is the least of the worries you got if he's pissed at your existence."

Tony smirked, eyes twinkling in mirth as he recognized the look on his partner's face as there being good stuff to be revealed. "Don't keep us in suspense Timmy McHortons" he quipped as he passed a piping hot coffee to his colleague "The natives are restless and wanting food to munch on."

Sipping some fresh hot java did indeed help Timothy get his bearings and focus better, the sight of the bag with his belated lunch was welcomed indeed. Then he squinted at the restaurant logo on the cup and bag and groaned in despair. "Really Tony? You pick that restaurant just to have a word game on my name?" He held up the Tim Horton's cup and shook it a bit at his friend with an exasperated sigh "Even Gibbs could have done that one, and that's saying somethin'!"

Jethro smirked behind the rim of his cup while waiting for the unavoidable reaction to come when McGee realized he stood next to him. Tim's eyes suddenly went round like dollar coins as he backpedaled his comment between stressed expressions and apologies. Gibbs decided to put him out of his misery by indicating the late lunch bag and telling him to go to the break room and take an hour of rest to put his feet up. They were in for rotating guard duty as long as the kid was in foreign hands.

The in-way door opened and a canadian military doctor walked in, her strides purposeful and her face set in angry frown lines. She was reading the paper printout of the patient file as she walked and barked orders to the two corpsman escorts that flanked her. "Up the sedation drip to 8% flow rate! Up the antibiotic to 13% flow rate! Switch out the Vancomicin perfusion and open it at 15% flow rate! We need some Neupogen and X-Rad stat! We need this patient in OR 4 at 15:00pm sharp if we want to save his left lung from being removed! The orthopedist is on the way for the consultation at 18:00pm after we reposition the ribs and inflate the lung back to shape!"

Gibbs moved his team aside to let the medics pass through until Tony, watching McGee frown in doubt, drew his pistol and pointed it straight at the face of the right-side corpsman. Everybody froze, except for Ziva who drew her own pistol and a flip-knife she opened at the same time. McGee got in the doctor's face as he drew his pistol and asked in low grumbling tones: "Up the sedation to 8%? At his age and body mass while starved, dehydrated and on a bevy of other stuff? Were you even trying to be subtle, numbnuts? He's already on the limit of overdosing with all the stuff pouring into his wrists, don't you think they haven't put him to the max of available prescriptions to save him?"

The doctor held the paper pad in front of her like a shield and scowled at the interloper who dared interfere in her mission. Admiral Noyce wanted the runt silenced and he would be, as would any who challenged the greatness and exceptionality of America.

"I am captain Simone Avarie, canadian navy, traumatologist and Intensive Care Specialist. What qualities do you have, little man, to challenge my expertise?" she sneered at the menial fool. As if the lapdogs of Leon Vance could possibly have credentials to match hers! The nerve of them to suppose!

McGee smiled showing two rows of pearly white teeth all the way to his molars, making him look like a friendly husky gone very hungry and not so friendly anymore. "You mean besides the diploma in medical engineering from John Hopkins, the paramedic level-3 license, the biochemistry major and the criminology major?" His smile seemed to enlarge and show more teeth as he scornfully stared down the imposter before him. "You could say that it has to do with the fact that the patient you want to hijack or kill has been wheeled into surgery for his collapsed thorax and damaged leg about three hours before you came in. And also, the fact that his radiation poisoning was actually in remission already so it would have been triaged as third or fourth line importance, no first line like you, an obvious fake amateur would think. And lastly, he was irradiated by exposure to Synthium from the SeaQuest's nuclear warheads in the ICBM's. There's only four places on earth that store the meds for that, and here isn't one of them. So..." Timothy put his pistol straight into her face, the muzzle just under her nose "Who are you, and how did you get passed security all the way here?"

The woman knew her gig was up so she tried to move fast enough to knock out the fool and egress back to their escape bolthole in the basement maintenance shaft towards the city aqueducts and gas lines. Either she moved too slowly or the agent's gun was to close to her head for an escape (well, duh!) but as she flipped the paper pad towards him, Timothy saw an image of Lucas Wolenczak lying unconscious in the gurney as they wheeled him to OR. He pulled the trigger twice without any remorse or second thought. The false canadian medic felt the right side of her jaw bone explode and rupture out of her face and then practically the entire right side of her facial features were ripped off by the second 9mm bullet as it rammed right into the lower part of the eye socket, then angled and burrowed through the inner ear before exploding out the back of her skull in a shower of gore that stunned the minion facing Tony's gun.

The man before agent DiNozzo tried to move only to be kneecapped by Gibbs on one side and have double gun muzzle flash from the near-simultaneous shots of McGee and DiNozzo, both going at his head. He owed Gibbs his life, since if his leg hadn't buckled from the injury at that moment, both bullets would have gone into his face and catastrophically mutilated him to death. Instead, the shells meerely ripped off parts of his ears on both sides at the same time.

The buffoon facing Ziva thought the gun was the worst threat. He actually managed to move fast enough to redirect her arm upwards to the ceiling, away from himself. Unfortunately for him, that opened him up to her small but lethal flip-knife which she had thoughtfully opened before the confrontation. There were so many gas and power lines in a hospital that shooting around was just asking for an explosion or electrical arc bouncing around. The poor SOB never saw the blade arcing up to his belly, side-swiping him across the entire width of his midsection and almost spilling his innards right there.

Ziva smirked satisfied and teased her coworkers "I do believe that for once, mine is more readily available for interrogation than yours, yes? We could even sew his belly shut without anesthesia, that would motivate his cooperation, do you not think?"

Timothy shook himself from the adrenalin spike caused by the instant carnage that took less than five seconds to happen and reflexively frowned at the mess "Couldn't they keep it outside?" he asked rather upset, "This is a hospital for Pete's sake! Just how is this sanitary for anybody, let alone the patients? People these days, I tell you! Ducky's right that manners have gone the way of the Dodo since his time in the navy. What will the canadians think about this?"

Tim pursed his lips in outraged displeasure as the rest of his team blinked in synch, trying to figure out just where their friend's mind had wandered off to. Gibbs shrugged it off as post-fight jitters and began the comfortable routine of barking orders while going to the in-way door to signal for help and some MP's to cloister the zone for analysis. The patient would need another room when he was done in OR. Better set that up too while they were at it. Shame, that. This room's setup was exactly what they needed as evidenced by events.


	2. Chapter 2

**SeaQuest – The Insurrection of Lucas**

 **Chapter 2; I have a jig, you have a saw; let's make us a puzzle**

 **Enter the bureaucrats!**

 _(NCIS – opening theme)_

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 15:11pm**

 **Diefenbaker Military Hospice; HAZMAT remedial containment**

 **Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

NCIS special agent Anthony DiNozzo sauntered back into the break room with a new bag of food, not Tim Hortons this time, since their last attempt had died an inglorious end on the floor during the shoot-out with the treasonous fakers who tried to play them like first year probies. It's funny how people who watch movies and TV never realize those little things like where the heck does all the food and drink go when the bullets fly and the bodies drop... Oh, well, food for thought... Speaking of which...

"Heads up Ziva! We're having greek for a change! So! Voila for madam; a well done chicken souvlaki with rice and salad. For our little medical genius we have a plate of doner on pita with greek potatoes, salad and rice. For our beloved and most munificent Boss we offer the ever popular sirloin steak with mushrooms in wine sauce, scalloped potatoes and salad. And for myself, the ever suave and debonair Truly Very Special Senior Agent, an incomparable plate of salmon mediterranean with greek potatoes, salad, rice and stuffed vine leaves." Tony took a mock bow as he handed the meals around and finished with a flourish as he set his very late lunch at his place. "The chef appreciates your many plaudits for his great culinary arts, my good patrons, and wishes you a Bon Appétit!"

Ziva was smirking in good cheer at the byplay as she watched her colleagues go about their mealtime routines. Gibbs methodically plowed through the plate like a marine assaulting a beach: from one side to the other in grim silence. Tim was busily reading and typing one-handed on his laptop while absentmindedly pushing the pita-wrapped sliced doner meat into his mouth at constant speed and bite size like an automaton. Tony ate while lazily perusing a leftover copy of the Canadian National Post newspaper, his affected mannerisms a vestige of his rather plush childhood amongst the children of the elite and then Remington Military Academy's unyielding stance on presentation and decorum. Her own nervous way of pecking at everything all at once in no particular order was both a symptom of nervous energy from the truly mind-blowing minefield of international politics the case represented and also just her natural playful nature that translated to sometimes erratic patterns in innocuous activities.

They were half-done with their meals and even McGee had started to concentrate more on his food than the data on his monitor, a sure sign he was at this point beyond famished. The novelty though was the closed, aggressive set to his youngish features. The thirty-four year old male was not one to hold grudges or display them but there it was. Intriguing, yes... Gibbs was frowning deeply, one would say angrily, as he chewed like a bear through a good fine steak as if it were his Drill Instructor's raw uncooked boot soles instead. Something irked him and that meant a lot of hurt for somebody real soon. Tony was nitpicking his meal apart, eating most but moving about a third of it around his plate without really realizing he was doing it as he kept gazing at the same page of the newspaper for some twenty minutes to date. Ziva knew she herself was not immune to the odd energy or vibration in the air. She truly enjoyed the meat of her brochettes but had mostly gone through the salad and rice, shredding and nibbling her chicken pieces like they were tasteless cardboard cubes. There was a dreary dullness in the atmosphere and she knew not the cause. She felt this weirdness as if a dense grey fog was slowly descending upon them, like fall in England; a murky, depthless bank of lead-grey smog that engulfed the material world and blocked all senses.

 _(Frederic Chopin – funeral march)_

The break-room door open and three people entered: two canadian marines in body armor with UEO-reg pulse rifles in hand flanking a distinguished older black male who wore a slightly out of date 3-piece steel-grey business suit and raincoat with a polished aluminum briefcase at his left hand. The man stopped two feet away from Gibbs and extended his hand. "Alan F. Delaney, senior case manager, US General Accounting Office. I hear that you are the guys who have point for the SeaQuest's multiples situations for Uncle Sam?"

Jethro stood up and shook hands with the man before proceeding with his usual short introductions to his team. "Yep, we are. To this point anyways. I'm Gibbs; that's David, McGee and DiNozzo. What the heck is GAO doing in Canada so bloody fast anyways? You people don't usually come into a crime scene or accident area until every john, dick, dick's dog and the dog's fleas have had their say."

Delaney snorted in amusement at Gibbs' phrase. It was all too true that while GAO was a federal law enforcement agency with weapons and badges like the FBI and ICE, it was also in fact staffed mostly by accountants and data crunchers. Field investigators were just that: investigators who went on site to find books, registers and computers to copy them and bring back for the non-mobile analysts to crack. In fact, under normal protocols, the GAO usually received its data and material proof from agencies like NCIS or the FBI and so they rarely went physically into the others' patch. It was both more efficient, safer and avoided conflicts with the rest of the damned alphabet soup of sister-agencies that populate the Washingtonian way of governance.

"I wish dearly I could have stayed away from this beached whale of yours, but the Powers Above saw fit to reroute my morning flight out of Washington State to LA for a Northern direction instead. I was in Seattle for an inspection of some errors in the inventory manifests for a pair of Arleigh-Burke destroyers that were suddenly missing about four dozen pounds of tactical Semtex each and it was the fifth error with similar materials this month. We caught a 3rd class seaman in the packing and palletizing warehouse who had gang ties and sudden increases of cash expenditures. You get the rest... Anyways, I have experience with beached ships that have been totaled out; it will be my fourth in my GAO career but I worked in maritime insurance before that for three decades; I processed a dozen derelicts at sea, three arsons for insurance fraud and four bombings for political reasons. It seemed to the bureau in DC that I might have some expertise to lend you. I was given orders to report to you and then forward to the office any physical materials that you have so they can build the case framework ASAP and give data-crunching support to the other agencies."

Turning to the two marines, Delaney thanked them and asked if they could now leave. After getting a salute and confirming with NCIS people they would be responsible for him, the soldiers left the americans alone. The older black man sat at the table the agents were using and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face and neck. Placing the fabric square back in his pocket, he grimaced in disgust and asked the fatidic question. "Do you have ANY idea of what kind of clusterfuck went down aboard the ship for the helmsman to ditch her in our best neighbor's front driveway? Or was it computer error in the NavSat array? Nobody told me anything to date"

Following an absent gesture by Delaney, the agents resumed picking at their meals at a sedate pace as McGee surprised them by taking the pole and speaking up with their basic lay of the land to date.

"Well, inspector Delaney, it wasn't mechanical, cybernetic or human error at the conn. It was willfully done by the ship's Chief Computer Analyst while he was practically dying on a gurney in the Vancouver Port Authority's admin center. He had been fearing that Bridger would go 'Stark' soon and he was right. The captain psyched out some of the crew into following him instead of the Law so the CCA left the ship, grievously injured by Bridger and his people, to get help from the Canadians. Once there, he opened some remote surveillance programs and saw that captain Bridger's clique of followers were destroying records and prepping the boat for silent run to escape the harbor and the Law. That's when he used an illegally modified smartphone to get into some back doors he put in the system just in case of something like this happening. He's the one who ordered the ship to beach and wreck itself."

The GAO inspector rubbed the side of his nose with a long index finger, thinking of the legal and political ramifications for the US government, NATO and the UEO. The relationship between the three were tense as it was since the old UN had been tanked out and replaced by the UEO some seven years ago. And the NATO members were not particularly happy with the USA's stance on international affairs and global security. The spate of recent US and UEO attacks against targets that were not actually aggressive or dangerous had seriously damaged the credibility of the USA as leader of the Free World and made the UEO look like Washington's gang-bangers rather than a fully functional alliance.

 _(JAG – opening theme)_

As the older gentleman was turning to McGee for a question, the door to the break room opened again to let in a trio of people. The same two marines from before and a different american from a different service. And judging by the cane, badges, shoulder pads and age, it was a high ranked US Navy heavy hitter. Oh, joy!

The distinguished venerable white gentleman walked slowly to the table as he waved the people to stay sat and pulled himself a chair. Now sitting comfortably, he elongated his leg and stood his cane against the table side. Looking over the partially finished food he grimaced and shook his graying head in sympathy for the people in the room.

"Ah, well, I see you're having about the same reaction I had on the plane over here" He spoke in urbane washingtonian accents with a slight southern drawl that was barely perceptible. "I had a meal included in my ticket but it just wouldn't go down easy, so I kept myself to coffee and toasted bread. It seemed the wiser choice, at least until dinner tonight. My name is Bud Roberts, admiral and judge for the department of the Judge Advocate General of the US Navy. I'm the guy who usually ends up sitting over your cases. Nice to finally meet in person the people the last five SecNav's had so much to say about."

Gibbs wiped his mouth, his plate completely cleaned out, and commented glibly: "What is it this week? Is every piece of brass in DC taking vacations up north? We were aboard the Ginsburg about to disembark, he was in Seattle and you were...?" He gestured in a playful 'gimme' way to get the older man talking.

Admiral Roberts just leaned backwards in his chair to take a bit more of his weight off his prosthetic leg and aching back. He was not getting slimmer with age, and the blasted rainy weather in BC this time of year was not helping him out with the phantom pains in his missing limb. "I was actually on a US Airways scheduled flight from Pearl Harbor where I gave a lecture to some three hundred ship captains and senior officers about the changes in recent International Border Law and the Chinese's construction of artificial islands near Japan's waters. My layover in BC was scheduled in the flight plan, but I wasn't supposed to get off the plane until Los Angeles where I was due to Meet Madam Lange at your NCIS Office of Special Projects for a classified briefing. It was about SeaQuest actually. We had recently received complaints, some seriously concerning informations, from an inside source that made us at JAG want to have a reliable insider to evaluate and report the crew's status and happenings for the rest of their tour. I guess we were a bit slow on the switch, as the saying goes."

Ziva placed both elbows on the table, her hands joined together into a single fist to rest her chin upon them. "That inside informant would not happen to be called Wolenczak by any chance? For he is somewhat indisposed at the moment and his social calendar for his return is already, shall we say, occupied? I do believe we have first rights and the fullest team in place, yes?" She commented, playful as ever all the while observing the reactions of both older men as they sat quite contentedly.

Delaney snorted to choke his laughter whilst Roberts just smiled the small, knowing smile of those who know more than everybody else in the room, even about themselves. "No, the informant wasn't Wolenczak, although the name is familiar to me. For classified reasons. Our informant is actually held by the Canadians at this point and I have to speak to them about releasing her to my custody so I can get my side of this quilt patched up to fit with yours. Since she wasn't part of Bridger's clique, she should come out easily enough, especially since CCA Wolenczak will no doubt vouch for her. There won't be many that get that honor, I'm afraid." He completed his thought sadly.

Gibbs was now worried, and his gut was beginning to churn acid far more than needed by the large 16 ounce steak meal he had just eaten. "You know the name 'Wolenczak' from where, exactly, admiral Roberts? We hadn't heard of him before which is damned weird considering which ship he served on and the fact he had 2 full departments reporting to him. How in Hell could this CHILD fly under the radar without being noticed?"

Roberts rubbed his lower face in tiredness and responded in low, slow words. "If I read the situation correctly, it comes from Pennsylvania Avenue. The Oval Office wanted him in that boat, regardless of what story you might hear from the crew about his father and admiral Noyce over at USNI and UEO Fleet Command. The President trusted Lucas Wolenczak to hold the reins in case Bridger went back to his old habits of acting out, of being the ' _Maverick of the seas_ ' like when he was last in active service a decade ago. Anything else, I don't know. Yet. I have made a few calls since I landed, but nothing came back as everything is still too fresh for everybody."

 _(The Agency – opening theme)_

Before any comments could be made, the door opened again for the usual pair of marines with two people under escort this time. They looked quite unremarkable in their grey suits and raincoats. Even the woman of the pair looked miserably plain and nondescript, without any make-up or adornment. The marines had obviously gotten the feel of the situation as they didn't even come into the room all the way; they just opened the door to let the people in and then left just as fast.

The female agent spoke up while presenting her badge simultaneously with her colleague. "Field agent Connor Lafferty and Senior Maritime Strategies Analyst Elizabeth Tea Lord, US Central Intelligence Agency, field office of Seattle. Who's the masthead on this shindig? And did anybody see the guys from the Bureau? I think we lost the FBI reps somewhere in the parking lot but we can't seem to be certain it was even them. It might have been Immigration & Customs Enforcement; they and ICE all look the same from a distance."

The male grunted and quipped unkindly "If they didn't all dress in the same brand of cheap suits and actually wore their name-tags we could identify them better. But then again, as long as they're not NSA of Homeland, the beavers shouldn't sic too may grizzlies at us."

Seeing the questioning gazes from all around, the woman CIA agent rolled her eyes and explained: "NSA and Homeland have mandates to operate inside US borders only. If they crossed over into Canada, it would immediately spark a procedural and jurisdictional war to make even the most pedantic paper pusher in DC give up their emails and faxes for an early retirement. I myself would ask for duty as a field analyst in Iraq; it would be messier but much faster and far less painful."

The communion of understanding gazes answering her comment meant she could go forward with another subject, so she did. "Any news from the SeaQuest's senior staffers yet? What about the guy that beached her? Do we have him yet or are we declaring a shadow war on his hide to hunt him down?"

Gibbs answered for his team. "We have him. Maybe not for long, but we have him. He's still in the operating theater getting put back together to look like a human again. If he ever wakes up, we have to contend with the fact he has multiple concussions and deep-brain lesions. He was poisoned repeatedly, including Synthium radiation. He has several infections from being refused treatment for his many conditions for THREE days before he fled the boat. At this point, IF he wakes up, we don't have any guarantee that he'll be lucid, able to communicate or even be remotely like his old self. Until he opens his eyes on his own power and speaks, nothing can hinge on his testimony or giving explanations of anything. Is that enough of an update?"

(Ketèlbey – In a Persian Market)

The multiple people in the room were mulling the gory detailed report when the door opened again for the marines and a gaggle of suit and raincoat wearing persons. The Canadian soldiers seemed to retreat even faster than before. Given the quantity of bureaucrats and badges in the room, nobody really blamed them, not out loud at any rate.

A middle-aged asian woman wearing a deep-blue suit with an armored aluminum briefcase attached to her left wrist raised her badge towards the people assembled around the table and asked out loud: "Divisional Supervisory Agent Lu Lwan Kwe, Federal Bureau of Investigation, division of nuclear products tracking and recovery. Does anybody know why the bloody blue blazes there are emissions of Synthium coming from this facility? It's not authorized to have any. And where the fuck is the base-born twit in charge of radiology? If I have a meltdown to report, you can bet I won't do the admin on it alone!"

Tony DiNozzo quipped to McGee: "Quite the charming fellow, isn't she? It's nice to know that professional curtesy and good manners are still the norm amongst the diverse branches of the public services." He completed in his plushest, snobbiest tones.

As one of the woman's two male colleagues was about to raise his voice to blast DiNozzo, the door opened to disgorge yet another suit-clad human but the escort marines didn't even show in the doorframe this time.

As the black male, middle-aged and quite comfortably so judging by the paunchy waistline and straining jacket buttons, lifted his badge to present himself, Ziva beat him to the punch and exclaimed out loud happily. "I remember you! You are from the immigration services! You were at the DC offices where I took my citizenship tests two years ago! Did you get a promotion? Or were you also just passing by like every one of us to date?"

The man shrugged, put his ICE badge in his jacket pocket so it hung visibly and responded: "Nah, I asked for a posting here in Vancouver because my youngest daughter got accepted at University here. She starts in early June for a summer session and then the regular classes in Fall. My wife decided to join us since she would have stayed home in DC all alone with the cats and the In-Laws next street over. Apparently, when i'm not there to moderate, my mother gets on her nerves." The man's whole body shook with laughter as he finished the punchline of his joke "I don't know why she thinks that! My mother gets on everybody's nerves all the time, not just when I'm absent! He, He, He!"

 _(Full Metal alchemist - Amestris)_

After the grunts, groans and some snorts were done, the FBI woman again tried to get the center of the floor to get what she thought were pressing answers. "Okay, now that we laughed about the in-laws of this guy, can you tell me where the damned radiologist is and why is there Synthium in the building? The counter's going nuts tracking it!" she affirmed while waving her Geiger counter around for people to see.

Timothy McGee raised his voice to answer agent Kwe's question: "That is because our prime informant, CCA Wolenczak was contaminated by Synthium during the mess aboard SeaQuest. He had some inside of him and as the doctors have been operating on him, I guess that any body fluids and operation refuse would be irradiated and would leave a trail around the hospital. If the level of radiation he got is as bad as he reported when he was at the Port Authority, then just the fact he was breathing could have contaminated the air, the furniture, the medics' clothing. In fact, any clothes he had, the bandages and emergency cast, the bedsheets and all that is probably 'hot' and needs to be scrapped."

The woman's congested facial expression told them she did not like what she heard. They didn't know just how much she didn't like it. Noyce had payed her and her tag-alongs a nifty sum to finish this job quickly and then get lost. How was she supposed to find the little bastard if the counter was going off like a church bell every damned meter she walked inside the hospice?

"Okay then, where is this Wolenczak fellow? We need to contain the chemicals and make sure nobody gets their hands on it. It's USA nuclear material and proprietary to the Department of Energy, as well as the US Navy. Who do we talk to to get this guy in quarantine and dialyzed to get the stuff out of him?"

 _(Star Wars – Duel of the Fates)_

McGee squinted his eyes at the woman and slowly moved his hand towards his sidearm, a move than was seen and matched by Ziva, Tony and Gibbs. Admiral Roberts took his cane left-handed by the barrel, his right hand grasping the rounded pommel. Agent Delaney coughed and cleared his throat, reaching a hand inside his jacket for a handkerchief to cover his mouth; or so it seemed. The ICE agent moved sideways and out of the ways inconspicuously as everybody was concentrated on the fool that just proved she was faking.

"You never worked with radioactive materials before, have you, amateur?" the scornful, scathing voice of McGee was heard to lance out through the sudden silence. "Once a radioactive substance has entered the body, that's it; you can't remove it and blood dialysis will do zilch to any condition the guy has. Does the idiot who employ you have nothing but medical neophytes and complete lackwits to chose from? Honestly! In the day and age when they teach the basics of nuclear mechanics and radiation dangers to elementary school kids! Heurgh!"

The woman dropped her briefcase that only looked chained to her wrist and brought up her right hand, 9mm Browning pistol firmly in place. Her partners seeing the gig was up stood at each side and raised their own weapons to cover their section of the room. As the males were now in place, the woman snorted and replied "So that's how the other infiltrator got whacked. She fell for a pretty boy with a few papers tacked to his wall. Bah! I'll get this done and the enemies of America the Great will know fear again! No one will ever dare resist the power and all-might of the Admiralty again! God Compels!"

The two men responded automatically "God Compels!" in tune to their leader just as the entry door opened again to let in yet more suits. The ensuing combat was even more brutal than it was short.

The newcomers forewent drawing weapons when they heard the religious proclamation from the traitors; they just went for a straight tackle at their exposed backs. As the three terrorists for hire shot randomly in the far side of the room, the people at the table scattered and retaliated as they could.

First kill went to Ziva who threw one of her many blades at the head of the man on her right as he tried to get back up and free himself from the person who downed him. The blade rammed into the crown of his head and drilled its way through his brain causing instant death.

Second kill went to the venerable old admiral Roberts who separated his cane's pommel from the barrel to reveal a three foot long, two-edged blade of titanium steel alloy. He used it as the last act of his career and life to do an'L' cut on the woman: across the right mid-thigh hard enough to separate the whole limb and upwards from the crotch to under her chin where the blade jammed into her throat and skewered her brain from under.

With his weight, the pains in his legs and lower back, and some sort of vertigo he had suffered from all year long, he was never going to move fast enough to avoid her retaliation shots or those she let loose in her death throes. That was okay with Bud. He had lived a good life, his wife and two kids would live longer and safer because of this and he could go join his mother in heaven in peace to await his brother and their families.

And maybe, for once, they wouldn't think ill of poor, fat, cowardly Bud Roberts who chickened out of real service by joining JAG instead of the marines or another outfit of the Navy. He died in battle against traitors and terrorists, giving his life in Service to Good, Morality and Law. He passed with a firm, satisfied smile on his lips, even as seven point blank shots shredded through his thorax, his vital organs and reduced half his spine to shards of bone.

Not a single shell made it out of his thick frame, as even in death Bud would not allow harm to those he stood in defense of. And if making a wall of his corpse was the solution, then far from him the idea of taking a lesser path that would let the enemy through to harm decent folk.

Bud welcomed McGee's three bullets in her head as he died from the multiple bullet wounds and poly-traumatic injuries inside his chest. They were rather superfluous at that time but still welcome. When dealing with terrorists who destroy all of Law and society, Bud had never thought there was such a thing as 'overkill' or 'sufficient measures'.

The old admiral's sacrifice gave the venerable agent Delaney time to gang up with the ICE agent to take out the third man as Gibbs and Tony shot him in the belly. They both pulled smaller Walther pistols from their jackets' inside pockets and shot the unknown criminal from each side simultaneously. With no less than 9 slugs inside his torso, it was a miracle that the man hadn't died from sheer shock, let alone blood loss. When they were through interrogating him, he would wish that he had died.

The Canadians were now fed up with American trash and violence sullying their country, their Nature and now their hospitals weren't even safe anymore! And it was a military hospital on a Navy Base for crying out loud! How in the fucking Moose totem spirit's well hung bollocks had they penetrated their defenses twice the same day! The series of new orders, regulations and protocol changes that would come down the pipe that evening would shake up Canada-America relations quite badly and show the USA that even their frigidly placid northern neighbor can be roused to anger when somebody puts an effort in it.

 **Oh, joy! More bureaucrats!**

 _(SeaQuest – opening theme)_

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 18:00pm**

 **Diefenbaker Military Hospice; Admin building, conference room 2-B**

 **Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

"This is the Global Network's local _6'o clock News_ from Vancouver, British Columbia in Canada. We bring you tonight exclusive footage and news from the site of the deliberate beaching and scuttling of the SeaQuest, flagship of the UEO Alliance and technological pride of the US Navy."

As the news anchorwoman's prattle faded in the background as the sound of the television was lowered, the people assembled in the conference room took seats at the long table and served themselves coffee and donuts, tea and scones, sandwiches and some finger-snacks to fill the hole in their stomachs until the end of the official briefing slash inter-departmental conference. In other words, they were meeting to discuss who got what part of the investigation as the problems kept piling up and the witnesses and material evidence were scattered in a foreign power's land. And wasn't that weird of the canucks to suddenly insist so much on the fact they were separate from the USA and, yes, they were foreign to each other...

The conference room double doors opened to let in a nondescript man escorted by a squad of Canadian Marines fully decked out in body armor and pulse rifles at the ready. The bayonets and grenade launchers on the rifles were not missed by anybody in the meeting. Neither were the pistols, combat knives and extra munitions hanging from their belts and tactical vests.

The man in the brown 3-piece suit with a small red canadian flag pin on his lapel addressed the assembly in a low, even voice that carried all over all the same. "I am Agent Jean Tremblay from CSIS; the Canadian Security & Intelligence Services. I have the deplorable duty to inform you that your colleagues from the FBI have been found dead in an abandoned vehicle in the forested part of the road between Vancouver City proper and the Navy Base where we are. All five members of the delegation were peppered with shrapnel indicative of modified flash/bang grenades that shoot out small plastic balls or BB pellets. The terrorists were obviously in a vehicle of exactly similar make and model so they just took the electronics package from the FBI car and put it in theirs with some tweaking to fool the gate guards. The investigation is ongoing."

The man then went to sit at the table, near the presenter's podium. All the americans in the room were deep in thought about how many of their citizens, their country's finest servicemen, had died today just to quiet the voices of those who would speak against the fanaticism and depravity of what was essentially a handful of perverts and rather ordinary law breakers. Why the hell did this admiral and that captain have so many twisted people volunteering to back them up?

The double doors opened up again to let in more people in brown suits of diverse cut and materials. Even the two women wore female versions of the blasted things! Eurgh! Bureaucrats! Was there no end to them? The Universe responded 'No!' as there was another group right behind the first, all dressed in business suits in various shades of blue this time.

"Ah! Our colleagues have arrived at last!" Agent Tremblay exclaimed in fake joyfulness as he contemplated the americans with feelings that fell far short of neighborliness. "I believe you will recognize the people in brown as being the Ministry of Justice and those in blue from our Ministry of defense. They flew an express from Ottawa just for you good folk. Now if we could..."

The man was rudely interrupted as the double doors opened to let in a group of four Mounties that were escorting another batch of suit-clad functionaries. They introduced themselves as the BC Child welfare department and the Canadian Immigration and Citizenship bureau. As they finished their spiel, another add on walked in and brandished a badge saying he was from the Mounties' cyber crimes' division and here to speak about a Mr Wolenczak's contributions to several ongoing cases of internet manufacturing and distribution of child porn and classified secrets.

Gibbs was experiencing the beginning of a slow, ponderous headache. He was again feeling as if he was adrift on dark blue seas with a steel grey sky overhead and no land in sight. They were literally drowning in cheap-suited briefcase-toting paper-waving bureaucrats and it didn't end! There were another two at the door waiting politely to be introduced! Why, God, oh why?!

McGee was both salivating at the thought of what the RCMP cyber squad could share and dreading the mounds of paper he would have to shovel through to get aforementioned goodies. Would it be worth it? So many questions and so much paperwork to fill to get the answers...

DiNozzo was on the verge of an aneurism as he had never seen that many suits in the same room and he worked at the bloody NCIS headquarters less than a half hour's drive from the bloody Capitol! Was it ' _pile up the suits day_ ' in here or what? Even the ritzy galas from his childhood had not had that many prancing, fawning peacocks in suits! What had he done to his mother to deserve this?

Ziva was slowly but methodically making herself smaller and less visible in order to have a clearer route to the small side door that led to the service corridor with the washrooms and fire exit. Her survival instincts were firing on all cylinders and she didn't think for a second that her psyche would endure the presence of so many officiously supercilious drones in the same room, especially not with the many grievances they all had. It was days like this she honestly wished she had stayed in MOSSAD; the terrorists in the Arab countries at least were decent enough to not force you to write your own autopsy report in quadruplets before killing you like these people did!

 **Finally! We got rid of the bureaucrats!**

 _(SeaQuest – opening theme)_

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 21:00pm**

 **Diefenbaker Military Hospice; Admin building, conference room 2-B**

 **Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

It had been a dismal three hours of introductions, job descriptions and then the inevitable turf wars about who got what part of the investigation and why. Except that unlike the Americans' way of shouting, threatening and invoking the constitutional separation of powers, they had been stuck on the hand brakes with apologies, politely asked permissions, politely asked derogations, patiently explained treaty of extradition clauses and even more patiently politely explained clauses in the NATO and UEO treaties about member jurisdiction and sovereign borders in case of one member's soldiers being involved in crimes on the other member's land. All very politely. Which meant very slowly, redundantly and with the same theme being explained in three or more ways to make certain everybody of every level of education or administrative background could get the same understanding.

The blasted canucks were pissing on them in a roundabout way without showing it or actually insulting them while it happened. Every American in the conference room knew it, felt it and, contrary to their nature and education, had to grin and bear it. The large contingents of Canadian Marines and Mounties still had not left the room after all. So making threats against the bureaucrats' overly slow and cautious approach wasn't going to happen with assault rifles and grenade launchers pointed at their backs.

Maybe the beavers had learned something from their southern cousins after all...

In either case, Gibbs and team were incredibly happy to be out of that room as each of them would prefer sleeping on the bare concrete floor of the HAZMAT ICU than go back to the rest of that meeting. Apparently, the Canadians had kept a few last minute items to discuss amongst themselves about the refugee status and immigration of Lucas Wolenczak as he had requested ' _Political Asylum_ ' before being doped up for surgery. And he had signed the blasted counter-fucked papers to boot! The State Department was never going to let any of them live that one down. Ever!

Gibbs passed a hand over his short grey hair in despair of getting anything near a clean resolution for this mess. The kid's request clearly put him in a judicial limbo that would favor the Canadians and allow them to data-mine the runt for everything he knew before it was passed on to the Americans. At the same time, they were the ones who had picked up Bridger and Westphalen on the other side of the SeaQuest when the evacuation was going on. Not that it would do them good; Bridger was grievously injured and now comatose but expected to survive if greatly diminished as a human. He had lost both legs and an arm as well as part of his facial structures from fights aboard before the ship ever came close to the harbor.

The woman doctor was even worse. She had been severely damaged by the uprisings aboard ship already but was still mobile. What did her in was that she suffered irreversible chemical and biological poisoning when the cabinets in her lab had crashed and burst open all around her when the ship beached. She had been comatose just like Bridger when their gurneys were taken out by the emergency chutes. She wasn't expected to ever wake up. In fact, she should die during the next 12 to 16 hours if the toxicology panel the Canadians gave them were accurate. McGee sent them over to Ducky and Abby already but his own expertise, which was considerable in point of fact, was that: " _she's already expired her due date and is just hanging on to make matters worse for everybody as it's her natural temperament, Boss_ ".

Damn! Jethro didn't know what it was in the air, the water, the food or the case but Timothy was in one bitching mood ever since he had come to this town. Tony had stopped teasing and antagonizing him after the young engineer had subtly hinted he could hack his phone and reveal the full list of his non-female conquests to the entire world. When Tony had replied "I'm not gay or bi, McGoof-off! What kind of a threat is that?" well Tim had deadpanned right back "I can make you as queer and flaming hot as I want, Tony, and create all the cyber trails that I want to make it true. Care to bet on it?"

Let's just say that the day had been a bit more quiet and work-oriented after that. Even Ziva had been weary around Tim and she had NEVER been afraid of him since she met him. Even Gibbs would be hard pressed to tell you why or how, but Timothy had managed to make him wince a few times today. Maybe it was the two bloodbaths in the same day. Shoot-outs were always bad. The fact they both happened in the same hospital explained a lot too. But it was perhaps the fact that Tim was the one to spot the traitors both times. And he was royally brassed off that somebody, as in a group of hot-wet-cunt snorting he-whores in DC, had thought it was okay to enslave a kid and then hurt him to keep him quiet while they molested and raped him on top of extorting high quality work product for free.

The more Gibbs thought about the situation, the more he saw that Timothy was visualizing the events as what could have happened to him as a teenager if he had been faster and more intelligent. His father was an admiral and he had eyes on becoming one of the joint-chiefs-of-staff during his career. What could he have offered or paid-off in order to get that? Some of his son's work time or designs? Letting them imprison Tim somewhere until they had what they wanted from him with his dad's blessing? Yes, Jethro could see that McGee was affected personally by the case. He could understand the why and how. He could also see how the bloody cock-shakers in DC and the Pentagon would go about saying it was legal: they had the boy's father sign papers and authorizations and then had a priest of some sort bless it all in the name of some religious/confessional foster care agency for white christians that doesn't exist anywhere but on paper in an admiral's drawer somewhere.

No, this case would not end well. And with Bridger completely out of service and physically invalid for the rest of his days, any guardianship they had contrived was now defunct. That meant Lucas was temporarily free and the Canadians would process the refugee claim as such. Not that they would do otherwise, given it was Bridger that lead the effort to demean, humiliate, hurt and maim Lucas thus making him unfit even by the widest definitions of parental power. Unless of course you were one of those Jesus-freaks in DC. Those guys wouldn't let something like life, health or welfare of the child interfere with their great and mighty authority to break the kid and force him to suck them off in proof of their glory. Bastards! Bloody, fucking, child destroying bastards!

 **I-see-you-too in ICU**

 _(SeaQuest – opening theme)_

 **Sunday, May 10, 2020; 21:44pm**

 **Diefenbaker Military Hospice; HAZMAT remedial containment**

 **Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada**

The american NCIS never thought they would be happy to be back in the small dreary waiting room in the HAZMAT block but after several hours in a conference with over FOURTY bureaucrats from different countries and more coming in the next days, it had been a boon to escape back into the silent solace of isolation.

They walked into the waiting area to be confronted by a full squad of canadian marines in full gear and brand new scanning arches with an X-ray machine like in the airports. Obviously, somebody decided to step up their game and take things seriously in here.

Jethro pointed the badge on his jacket pocket. "Gibbs, NCIS. I'm the lead investigator for the US side of things."


End file.
